Hunger, Thy Name is Blade
by Fukai Yoru
Summary: Drake is intrigued. That's how it all begins.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I can dream all I want, but it will _never_ be mine. And that makes me sad inside. Though, maybe it's for the best that I _don't_ own Blade or affiliated characters.

"**Hunger, Thy Name is Blade"**

By: Yoru

Drake was intrigued for the first time since his rude reawakening. In fact, he was intrigued for the first time in such a very long time. This intrigue elicited a hunger, and this hunger became Blade.

Blade. The Daywalker. A vampire-human hybrid. A powerhouse to be reckoned with. One who lived by the sword, who fought with ferocity and honor. One very similar to himself.

It didn't hurt that Blade had an erotically animalistic sex appeal. Yes, Drake knew art when he saw it, and Blade was a masterpiece.

So when he first encountered Blade and his sidekicks, he was instantly attracted. Something in Blade screamed his name even as his expression remained unimpressed and his posture prepared for a fight.

On that rooftop, it had been endearing—in a twisted sort of way—how he had been able to tame Blade with the threat of harming an innocent child. That only served to further pique his interest and feed his hunger.

He had to have Blade. Any way possible and preferably some time within the very near present.

So when he ran into Blade as they both approached the same club, he was equal parts surprised and delighted. Who said fate didn't exist? He didn't believe in god—upper or lower case—but he knew something was at work. There existed some order and turned some wheel that plotted a course to some destination.

And wasn't it the strangest thing that they were _both_ headed to a _club_, of all places? Both dressed for a night on the town? It was distracting to see Blade without his leather trench coat, his leather pants clinging in all the right places, a burgundy shirt pulled tantalizingly across chocolate skin and firm muscle. Vaguely, he wondered if Blade was armed. And if he was, where was he hiding it?

When Blade flashed him a feral grin, he started, his pants tightened a fraction, and he decided that Blade was drunk or in some way intoxicated. Drake just wished that Blade had left his sunglasses with his trench coat. Shame to hide such a striking feature.

And oh mercy, how he danced! Drake knew, just _knew_, that he had to be dreaming. Blade would never dance and most certainly not like _that_, quite indecent and utterly arousing. If Drake had been a firm believer, he would have dropped to his knees and thanked whatever deities were listening for this moment.

Those Nightsalkers must be rubbing off on him, Drake decided. Especially that sarcastic brunet with his quick charm and cutting satire. Drake felt a pang of _something_—something akin to jealously, maybe possessiveness?—run through his frame at that thought and the various, though not too unpleasant, images that accompanied it.

As appealing as _that_ particular notion was, Drake wanted Blade all to himself, wanted the whole of Blade. He wanted Blade's skin and grin, his tight body and full lips, his honey-colored eyes and mixed blood, his mind and his soul.

Drake wanted to possess Blade, mark him and make that arctic inferno all his own. And (god) save anyone who decided to get in his way.

Then, he was dancing with Blade, hands sliding over that smooth skin and taut muscles, gliding over swinging hips and gripping leather-clad, pert globes of flesh.

Oh yes, he was most definitely dreaming. Reality would never be _this_ good to him.

And Blade's lips crept closer to his own and he frowned when they weren't so full, so plump, as soft as he'd imagined.

His eyes flew open, flashing honey then amber then red and back. Danica hit the wall with a very audible thud, a small crater formed in the wall as her body crumpled to the floor. Bits of the wall rained briefly on her head and blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

And Drake was so hard it hurt and so completely unsatisfied and _hollow_ inside and _that_ hurt even _worse_.

TBC?

**A/N:** Possible continuation. Depends on any reviews I get.

P.S. I watched _Blade: Trinity_ today and the more I watch it, the more the whole Drake/Blade dynamic grows on me. I have yet to read Drake/Blade, so I decided to write my own.


	2. Chapter 2

I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for all the wonderful reviews. Thank you also to everyone who favorited this story. You have all made me come back to this story and finally continue on. Thank you for undoing my writer's block!!

Disclaimer: As stated in the previous chapter, I do not own Blade or any affiliated characters. Oh, but if I _did_…It would be much _more_ delightful…

"Hunger, Thy Name is Blade"

Chapter 2

By: Yoru

Blade's been pining for a long time now. He doesn't know for what exactly, though. It's not something he can quite pinpoint just yet. He supposes he wants understanding, more than anything. He has purpose, but there's this desire for something more. He really wishes in his deepest, most secret heart to belong. And deeper still, a desire for another who can understand and accept him for the hybrid warrior that he is.

And that brings him to Drake. The perfect being. Vampire. Warrior. One who shares Blade's sense of honor, respect for the sword.

Beautiful.

Soul mate? Perhaps. It's not something about which Blade is too comfortable thinking.

Blade is fairly positive he can defeat Drake. Kill him? He doesn't believe there is anything that could kill the archetype. King said it himself that Drake is the perfect being, evolved to the highest form.

Still…

Blade's blood thrums at the prospect of their impending showdown. It will come down to the two of them, and Blade knows it will be beautiful.

Blade grins, all sharp teeth and cunning eyes hidden behind black shades. Positively feral.

Oh yes, it will be exquisite. Blades drawing sharp arcs through the air. Sweat and blood, pulses pounding, adrenaline rushing, a high Blade rarely feels.

He will be truly alive.

It will be beautiful.

Blade's fingers ghost over the growing bulge at his crotch. Yearning, anticipation, well-matched fighters perfect in the moment.

Drake's intense eyes. Flashes of amber and red, swirls of gold. Toned chest, sleek body. Graceful and deadly as a panther stalking prey.

Blade's touch becomes firmer, more insistent, fingers hurriedly undoing belt, button, zipper to wrap around hot, hard, aching flesh.

Swords clashing, muscles straining, raw power and Blade's hand slides over his erection, gliding faster and faster, pacing to match the flow of their final battle.

Quicker still and Blade's positively flying, soaring through the motions. Drake is radiant, meeting him blow for blow and strength for strength.

Blade's lower abdomen tightens suddenly, and his spine arches gracefully as completion rips through his being, euphoria shooting through his veins and into the open air, almost roaring Drake's name.

The high fades slowly, and Blade relishes the afterglow, lazily licking his fingers clean.

It's going to be glorious.

And Blade just can't wait.


End file.
